John Podhoretz of National Review’s Corner alerts us to the New York Observer’s Bridal Blog, where bridezillas rule, where you refuse to take your husband’s name (or cook for him), but the engagement rock from him had better set him back a mint, and where it’s woe to the friend or relative who dares to give you something so “traditional” as potholders at your wedding shower.
Here’s bride-to-be Aimee Agresti, explaining that Daylight Saving Time is really all about her:
“With less than a month to go until my wedding I SO don’t need to be springing forward right now. I need daylight savings time to kick in by April 22 because I need a little sunlight for my early evening wedding ceremony.
“But right now I blame the time change for my time-management issues. I barely made a dent in my to-do list this weekend. I am spinning, absolutely spinning. And, apparently, so is the woman handling my stationery needs. She just sent me an email asking if I’ve chosen the color for programs, menus and placecards: ‘It’s getting tight on time!’ she wrote. ‘Yeeeeeeee!’ (Seeing that some of the more typical vendor reprimands didn’t work with me, she’s upped the ante with ‘Yeeeeeee!’).”
And here’s Madeleine Perez, saying I don’t want a traditional shower, but I sure do want a lot of stuff:
“When Mitch and I got engaged, I swore the year prior to our wedding wouldn’t be filled with lots of silly traditional events. So I was relieved when my aunt and uncle offered to host my bridal shower because I knew that meant a tasteful, understated event.
“The shower would take place at their West Village apartment and they’d make it an informal lunch with friends, family, and presents (I’m only traditional on certain things like gifts). My mom, who was helping, swore there would be no ribbon hats, no umbrellas (It’s raining at a shower. Get it?), no trivia questions asking ‘What’s Mitch’s favorite sandwich?’ and especially no ‘Wishing Well.’ For those of you not from Brooklyn, a ‘Wishing Well’ is literally a well where guests drop utensils and recipes for the blushing bride to be, since she is headed for a life of cooking for her man.
“When I woke up the morning of my shower, I was pretty nervous. Mitch’s whole family had come into town from Los Angeles, which in and of itself was nerve-racking. But as I was flying out the door to head downtown, I started getting last minute phone calls from people who were backing out with “my dog ate my homework”-like excuses. That can make you feel pretty bad, especially when you have a huge pimple on your chin.
“I got in a cab and headed to my aunt Salome’s apartment: It was stunning — beautiful flowers, great food, and a room spilling over with presents. Things were looking up already. Friends and family started to arrive and with the help of a little champagne, I got very used to being the center of attention.”
And Madeleine again, reminding us that not only is she a liberated woman, but that diamond on her fourth finger is hyooooge:
“1) I’m not changing my name, so please stop asking. I’m 30, I have a career, and while I have no issue with women who choose to take their fiance’s name, please don’t criticize me for choosing to stick with Perez. I like my name, it’s part of who I am, and that’s just the way it’s going to be.
“2) I don’t know if I’m having kids, but I sure as hell don’t plan to discuss it in a public forum.
“3) The invitations were clearly marked with the names of guests we want at our wedding. No you cannot bring your newborn infant, nanny, dog, or your aunt who is in town for the weekend. This isn’t a refugee camp — it’s a wedding. If we wanted them there, we would have invited them.
“4) I don’t know how many carats my ring is — I didn’t buy it. But even if I had a scale in my apartment and weighed it every morning, I still wouldn’t tell you. And honestly, why do you care?”
Rest assured, Madeleine, I don’t. And I’m also relieved to know that no one will dare to invite me as a tag-along guest to your in-your-face nuptials.